


Shepherd Moon

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work, The Boy Who Cried Wolf - Aesop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Loss of Virginity, Once Upon a Fic 2019, Revisionist Fairy Tale, The Wolf is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-16 17:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: They still call him a boy. He resents that about the people of his natal village. Yes, he resents that above all things.





	Shepherd Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scytale/gifts).



They still call him a boy. He resents that about the people of his natal village. Yes, he resents that above all things.

 _You’re not a man until you’ve had carnal knowledge of a woman_ , they say, smirking lasciviously. Everyone in the village knows full well that Kusha is a blushing virgin.

 _I just haven’t found the right woman yet_ , he says. _I’ll bed her when I do_ , he insists, _and then I’ll marry her_. _It’s true! I swear!_

The villagers just shake their heads, roll their eyes, and try not to roar with laughter in his face. There aren’t many women going spare this high up in the mountains, and none of them have ever shown the slightest interest in Kusha.

And so, while men younger than Kusha are heads of households, having fathered multiple children already, Kusha spends his days doing the same job he’s been doing since he was a boy—a _real_ boy, that is, voice thin and high, not even the slightest hint of fuzz under his arms: watching the village flock.

It’s boring. Sheep are boring, as are the mountainsides upon which they habitually graze. There’s nothing to do but sit and stare and count sheep while emphatically trying _not_ to fall asleep.

There were wolves in these parts, the village elders aver, once upon a time. The mountains used to teem with huge packs of ravening, hungry wolves; the mountains _belonged_ to them. Now, though, there are no more wolves, and the rare individual which dares to stray up from the valley meadows far, far below is met with the full strength of the village . . . and slaughtered without mercy.

Kusha has never even _seen_ a wolf. There haven’t been any wolf attacks since before he was born. Idly, he wonders if he ever will.

He doesn’t know why he does it the first time. He tells himself he’s bored, that he wants to scare everyone who teases him. But there’s something, _something_ about seeing the big “men” of his village shrivel and piss themselves with fear, seeing the women who sneer at him shed their helpless tears—and all because Kusha has dared to utter, loudly and with an appropriate amount of urgency, _that_ word:

_Wolf!_

The word “wolf” means _power_ , power for Kusha over the actions and emotions of the villagers, and using it is intoxicating.

They catch him in his lie eventually, of course, since no wolf—and no wolf-mauled sheep carcasses—are anywhere to be found, but not before Kusha has the most enjoyment he’s had in ages. A supreme effort of will is required not to give away the game with laughter, but by the Angelic Host of the Nameless God’s Heaven is the effort worth it! It might even, Kusha decides, be better than sex with a woman. Well, theoretically.

He’d meant the prank to be a one-off thing. Of course he does. So it’s not until he’s actually running pell-mell down the treacherous mountain trail with its yellow dust and loose gravel and crying out “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” at the top of his lungs that he realizes this might become a very bad habit.

The frightened reactions of the villagers are still so incredibly satisfying, though, and Kusha relishes every second of their quivers and shivers and tears.

Unfortunately, after that second false alarm, the village’s scorn for Kusha doubles. He becomes the lowest of the low. Men ignore him; women giggle and whisper _that word_ behind his back and otherwise make it abundantly clear to him in every way possible that he will remain a mere boy forever, fit only to watch the flock forever, bored out of his senses forever.

Well, fuck that! Kusha doesn’t care anymore. He is a derelict shepherd. He wastes his days—why not? He sleeps on in a nest of crushed bracken when he ought to be counting sheep.

And so it is on _that_ one particular day. _She_ is already standing over his prone form when he awakens.

A wolf. No, _the wolf. The she-wolf._

He screams. He runs away, back towards the village, crying out that magic word “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” as he goes. The windows and roofs of the village houses are in sight—surely they can hear him from this short distance! surely they will answer his call!—when the she-wolf, who has given chase, knocks him to the ground.

Her fur is red tipped with grey, and her eyes and teeth are yellow, and those knife-like teeth cut through Kusha’s wool trousers as easily as a sheep’s skin. His dick, shriveled and small, is exposed to the she-wolf’s inspection.

He screams louder, “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” She is lowering her muzzle, and she is going to bite him, hurt him, eat him, _devour him_ —

And then the she-wolf is gone, and there is a woman in her place. A naked woman, that is, young and exquisitely beautiful, with moon-white skin, red hair tipped with grey, and feral yellow eyes . . .

The she-wolf does indeed devour Kusha that night. Just not with her mouth. And what she takes into her so enthusiastically is not Kusha’s flesh. Well, not  _only_ his flesh.

“Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” Kusha cries for the last time, towards the end. That word has power indeed. He doesn’t care if anybody hears. He doesn’t care if he is ignored. He doesn’t care if nobody comes.

He’s much, much too busy coming himself.

After that third and final sounding of the alarm, Kusha leaves his natal village for good. He is no boy anymore, no; he is a man. The woman he has taken to bed and to wife has made him a man.

And that’s not all. She has also made him a wolf. A pack leader. His seed quickened her womb immediately—ah, he is so strong, so virile! They are expecting their first litter of cubs in the winter, and in that cold season they will feast.

They are the only wolves in these mountains, and fortunately the village has kept them deliciously well-stocked with sheep.

 

* * *

_~ The End ~_

* * *


End file.
